


sit awake until the wild feelings leave you

by anneweaver



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Brief description of a panic attack, Gen, mentions of nightmares and insomnia, the fitzsimmons and huntingbird are mostly background/discussed only
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 21:54:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4279293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anneweaver/pseuds/anneweaver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You seem to desperately need some rest but instead you offered to take the night shift so Fitz could catch up on sleep, even though you’re well aware you and I have never really been close enough for you to just give up an full night of rest for me unless absolutely necessary, so, either you’re really selfless, which I doubt, or there’s another reason why you can’t sleep and you decided to feel useful by watching over me instead of spending yet another night tossing around in your bed.”</p><p>(Or, five times Lance Hunter takes the night watch during Jemma's quarantine.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	sit awake until the wild feelings leave you

**Author's Note:**

> As the tags say, there is a brief scene involving a panic attack (in #3) _and_ most of this fic includes discussions/mentions of insomnia/nightmares/the generally unpleasant thoughts that come with trauma, so read carefully if that's something that might trigger you.
> 
> Note/Edit: This was written before season three aired, hence my optimistic outlook on how much time Jemma was gone and what happened to her. You can say this goes fully AU after season two.

1.

When she wakes up, the clock on her bedside table reads 2:45. She glances outside the glass that currently surrounds her, but the chair that sits there isn’t occupied by Fitz’s familiar figure –which is odd enough on its own, since he has barely left that spot in the day and a half she’s been quarantined– and, instead, Lance Hunter is there, mostly giving his attention to whatever game he seems to be playing on his tablet.

He briefly eyes Jemma’s hospital bed and notices she’s awake. She smiles faintly at him and gives him a little wave.

“You’re up,” he says, straightening up on his chair. His voice sounds raspy, like he’s been napping, and given the hour of the night, he probably had been.

“I am,” she says in response, and then takes a small moment to notice him, really notice him, probably for the first time ever, and winces. The bags under his eyes are enormous, his scruff is messier than he usually keeps it, and his hair is long and definitely looks like it hasn’t been taken care of. Her voice softens. “You look like crap, Hunter.”

“Ouch,” he replies, faux-hurt flickering across his face, and clutches his chest, before narrowing his eyes at her. “You don’t have much room to talk, princess, you look like crap too.”

She rolls her eyes at the pet name but smiles genuinely; he doesn’t seem to be the kind of person to hover around her and watch his mouth for fear of saying the wrong thing, which is a welcome change, given the way the rest of the team had been behaving around her lately.

“Excuse you,” she gasps, but it really sounds more teasing than anything else, “I was swallowed by a giant alien rock for a week and a half and now I’m quarantined. What’s _your_ excuse, mister?”

“The woman I’m in love with took a bullet for me, and then one of my teammates was swallowed by a giant alien rock, so every person in this base spent a week and a half trying to come up with ways to make said alien rock spit said teammate out. I think my excuse might be a little better. Just a little.”

He’s smiling by the end of his little speech. Jemma’s smile, on the contrary, wipes off her face.

“When was the last time you slept? Any of you?” she asks him, suddenly more serious. “I don’t mean naps, I mean a full night’s sleep.”

He shrugs. “There really hasn’t been much time for sleep lately, not until about twenty-four hours ago anyway,” he says, instead of a straight response.

She doesn’t really know what to say. “Are you okay?” she asks, instead of trying to reprimand him or order him to get some sleep, and for a moment Lance seems violently taken aback. Once he composes himself, he frowns.

“You’re the one who’s quarantined. Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” he asks her in response. She shrugs.

“Everybody has been asking me that lately,” she explains, “and I understand _why_ but, well. It’s just, I know all of you have every reason not to be okay. Especially _you_. And that’s important, too,” she finishes, shyly, and Lance feels a sudden rush of warmth, thanks to the girl sitting in front of him, behind that glass. It takes a special kind of selflessness to be the type of person who goes through hell and back and still prioritizes everybody else’s well-being.

“Don’t you have enough on your plate already?” he asks her. She shrugs, once again.

“You seem to desperately need some rest but instead you offered to take the night shift so Fitz could catch up on sleep, even though you’re well aware you and I have never really been close enough for you to just give up an full night of rest for me unless absolutely necessary,” she comments. “So, either you’re really selfless, which I doubt, or there’s another reason why you can’t sleep and you decided to feel useful by watching over me instead of spending yet another night tossing around in your bed.”

He stares at her. It takes a special kind of selflessness to be like Jemma Simmons, indeed, one he doesn’t have, and she _knows_.

It’s both a little infuriating and a little refreshing. “You are really good at reading people.”

“Comes with the territory,” she states, before raising her eyebrows. “So, are you going to talk about it or not? We can even pretend this is a sleepover! I will braid my own hair and you can share your darkest fears with me.” He snorts, seemingly surprised with himself for it, and Jemma has to admit she feels a little proud of herself for making him laugh.

“Okay then, in the interest of full disclosure, since this is a _sleepover_ , and all,” he says, as serious as he can muster given their current situation, “you’re right, I haven’t been sleeping well. Or, more like at all,” he sighs. “I keep having nightmares, so I’d much rather be awake than subject myself to that.”

Jemma eyes him, expressionless, for a brief moment, like she’s deciding whether to say something or not, and then her expression shifts to something softer.

“I used to have a lot of nightmares too. Still do, sometimes,” she admits. “Honestly, that’s part of the reason why I asked. Because you look just like I did when the nightmares were at their worst.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” she mutters. “I’m sorry this is happening to you, by the way. I wish I could tell you how to get rid of them, but…”

The _I haven’t been able to get rid of the nightmares either_ is left unspoken, but Lance understands what she means.

“How come we’ve never really spoken before?” he asks, genuinely curious, instead of giving her a response to her previous statement, and stares at her curiously, like he’s only just noticing her for the first time. She grins.

“I really have no idea.”

2.

The following night, Jemma is still awake when Lance walks to where Fitz is sitting, places a hand on his shoulder and tells him to “get the hell out of here and get some rest”. Fitz frowns.

“I’m not sure if I should…” he tries, and Jemma shakes her head.

“Nonsense, Fitz,” she declares, “you need sleep. I will still be here when you wake up,” he looks unconvinced, and her gaze softens; she understands exactly what he’s feeling, which is why she knows he’d prefer to stay with her 24/7 but she also knows he, of all people, desperately needs the rest.

“Are you sure?” he asks, only half-jokingly, and Jemma gives him a reassuring smile.

“I promise I’ll be here,” she says, voice soft and caring, and then peeks at Lance, who has been watching their exchange wordlessly, “plus, Hunter will be here to make sure I don’t sneak out and get swallowed by any alien rocks again, won’t you, Hunter?”

“‘course, princess,” he winks at her, making Jemma roll her eyes _again_ at the pet name, and making Fitz stare at him and then at Jemma, confused by their sudden affability. Lance nudges Fitz’s arm with his elbow. “Really, mate, I will creepily stare at Simmons while she sleeps to make sure she doesn’t disappear again. If anything happens you’ll be the first to know, but I’ll make sure nothing happens in the first place, okay?”

“I’m not sure what’s going on here,” Fitz remarks, still alternating between looking at Jemma and then at Lance, “but fine. Gang up on me. I’m going to sleep now.”

“Have sweet dreams, Fitz,” Jemma says with a little wave, a big grin on her face, and any traces of frustration on Fitz’s face disappear completely, to be replaced with an equally huge smile. He places a hand on the glass, while Jemma does the same on the opposite side, and they stay like that for a few moments, in silence.

Lance groans. “Jesus, you two are disgusting,” he says, effectively killing their moment and earning a glare from both of them. “Go to sleep, Fitz.”

Fitz glares at him until he’s out of the lab.

-o-

When Jemma wakes up, her clock reads 1:36, and Lance is again on the other side of the glass, absentmindedly playing something on his tablet.

“What is it that you like to play so much?” she asks him, startling him, and he shrieks.

“God, you can’t just scare a man like that!” he whimpers, which manages to get a genuine, long laugh from Jemma. He glares at her. “I’m glad my fright amuses you, but I was doing really well and now I’m pretty sure I’m gonna lose.”

“You didn’t actually answer my question, you know,” she points out. He holds the screen up for her to see, and she bursts into laughter again. He frowns.

“What?”

“ _Solitaire_? Who loses a game of Solitaire?” she says, between little gasps.

“You know, I am starting to find you quite annoying now,” he declares, which only makes her snort even louder, “and just so you know, we weren’t all born with triple digit IQ’s. Plus, I don’t even play this because of the difficulty level, I play it because it’s mind numbing enough to make me drowsy.”

Jemma’s laughter is now a small giggle, and she gives him a sympathetic look. “Still can’t sleep?”

“I can’t magically fix my nightmare problem in one night, you know,” he snaps at her. She holds her hands up.

“Okay, someone’s in a bad mood tonight,” she teases, though Lance knows she is genuinely concerned. “Did something happen?”

He gives up on the Solitaire game, moves the chair a little closer to the glass and rubs his eyes.

“Bobbi is really frustrated with how physical therapy is going so far,” he sighs out, “and I can’t do anything to help her so mostly we just end up in a shouting match every day and I keep telling her I should just stop going with her because we’ll both inevitably end up feeling frustrated which doesn’t exactly speed her recovery but she’s stubborn as a mule so of course she wants me to keep going, so now she spends most of her day frustrated and angry with me and I spend most of my night feeling guilty _and_ angry at her. So, yeah, I’m in a bad mood.”

Jemma closes her eyes, and for a moment it feels like Lance isn’t describing Bobbi’s physical therapy but Fitz’s speech therapy a year ago (though back then they couldn’t exactly end up in a shouting match so instead they just wouldn’t speak to each other at all), and she’s slightly surprised about his ability to put into words what she had been feeling back then but was never able to express.

She smiles, despite herself. Lance gives her a disbelieving expression.

“Really? You think this is funny?” he asks, apparently taking offense, and Jemma wrinkles her nose.

“No, no of course not,” she rushes to say, “I know it’s not funny, it’s just, I know what you’re going through. I was in a very similar situation a year ago. So, I get it.”

“And what did you do?” Lance asks, nonchalantly. Jemma winces.

“I went on an undercover mission at Hydra.” Lance doesn’t say anything, but the look he’s giving her is enough. She smiles in a self-deprecating manner that he has never seen on her before and nods once. “Yeah, not exactly the healthiest way to deal with that, I know. I wouldn’t go around recommending it, or anything.”

“Well,” Lance says, clearing his throat, still caught off-guard by the implications of what she had just said, “if it makes you feel better, I’ve never thought of you as a particularly healthy person,” he grins. “Even though you probably should, since you’re a doctor, and all.”

“Want me to tell you a secret?” she says, now grinning, and Lance nods.

“I see we’re having another sleepover.”

“Of course,” she nods, then smiles even wider and stage-whispers, “I’m not actually a medical doctor.” Lance gasps, pretending to be surprised, but then starts laughing, and Jemma giggles, childish joy taking over her.

“That explains a lot,” he says, “I’m sure medical doctors deal better with their unresolved feelings.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s true,” Jemma replies, which elicits another smile from Lance, and then she gives him a funny look. “But for what it’s worth, you don’t really come across as a very healthy person either, so if you want to go off and spend a few months undercover at Hydra, by all means, follow my lead.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he promises, winking, and she winks back. Then his face adopts a more serious expression. “Can I ask you something? Not related to your disappearing act.” She nods in response, and he takes a few moments to phrase the question in his head before asking. “Uh, you mentioned last night that you were having nightmares too. Is that why you keep waking up at such odd hours of the night?”

“Yeah,” Jemma answers, simply, and Lance nods slowly. Jemma rolls her eyes. “Go on, I know you want to ask something else.”

“Again, your ability to read people is starting to rival Bobbi’s,” he comments, but then looks at her and asks, “what are the nightmares about?”

Consciously, Jemma is aware she can just refuse to answer the question and he will understand, and she has to admit she is a little tempted to do just that; after all, she hasn’t discussed this with anybody before (not the full extent of it, anyway), but there is something about Lance that makes her feel safe enough to feel like he won’t judge or pity her. Maybe it’s the fact that they don’t really know each other that well, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s currently going through the same experiences she went through a year ago so she won’t have to explain herself more than necessary, but either way, she doesn’t refuse.

She takes a deep breath and looks at the blanket covering her legs.

“You know, um,” she hesitates for a moment, and he gives her a little, reassuring smile, “you know what Ward did to Fitz and I? Last year?” He nods. “Well, it’s always what could’ve happened then. Sometimes I dream can’t get Fitz out of the pod. I try and try and keep pulling and he won’t move, it’s like he’s stuck, and then I can’t breathe anymore and I have to swim to the surface by myself. Other times I dream we both make it out of the pod but he never wakes up from his coma, I’m old and still sitting by his bedside and he still looks as young as he is right now but never wakes up. And other times I dream he wakes up but doesn’t know who I am,” she takes another deep breath, this time a little shaky, and Lance offers a sympathetic nod. “That’s it. Not very interesting.”

“I get it,” he simply says; he knows it’s not exactly his place to say anything beyond that, so he doesn’t, and she’s grateful for that.

They sit in companionable silence for a while, and it almost feels like they’re bonding over their trauma.

About twenty minutes later, Lance notices Jemma is starting to get drowsy. He knocks on the glass, twice, and points to the bed.

“You should sleep some more,” he offers, and Jemma smiles weakly, then lies down on the bed again and gets under the covers, her back turned to him.

“Here’s to some more nightmares,” she mutters, and though she can’t see him, he still smiles.

“I’ll be here when you wake up from them,” he tells her.

“Good,” she says, and falls asleep.

3.

The third night, she wakes up all of a sudden, soaked in sweat, shaking violently and hyperventilating. She stares at the ceiling of her quarantine room, feeling very claustrophobic, until she hears two soft knocks on the glass and, as expected, Lance is outside, brows knitted tightly.

“Simmons?” he asks, voice thick with worry, “you okay? You need me to go in?”

She smiles at his offer, but even that won’t stop the shaking. She covers her eyes with both her hands and works on slowing down her breathing. “I’m fine,” she gasps, “don’t come in. There’s a reason I’m quarantined, remember?”

“You’re having a panic attack right in front of me, I don’t exactly give a damn about quarantine rules right now.” he says. Her chest now feels tight again, but for a very different, better reason.

“I do give a damn about those,” she replies. “Really, you can go back to whatever you were doing, I’ll fall back asleep in no time,” she tries, unsuccessfully, and he lets out a bitter laugh.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me, of course I’m not going back to whatever I was doing, not when you’re in this state,” he sounds offended by her suggestion which, again, deeply warms her heart. It feels odd, in a way, to have Lance Hunter of all possible people around during such a vulnerable moment, and it’s even more odd to see him visibly worried about her, but she has to admit it feels wonderful to have someone who understands.

For the first time since _everything_ started, she doesn’t feel so alone.

“Fine,” she says, and he doesn’t answer. For a while, she keeps her face hidden under her hands and works on her breathing. When she uncovers her eyes, he stops pacing and looks at her, once again with concern written all over his face.

“Better?” he asks, and though she can still feel the panic all over her body, she nods. He seems relieved. “Do you need anything? Water, maybe?”

“I’m fine,” she tells him. He doesn’t exactly look convinced, but he still sits on the plastic chair, a little too upright to be comfortable, and gives her a stern look.

“Good,” he says, trying (and failing) to be reassuring, “because now you’re gonna tell me all about it.”

Jemma goes cold. “You really don’t have to do that,” she says, voice breaking. The way he’s looking at her tells her he’s dead set on making her talk, and she’s not sure if that makes her feel safer or uncomfortable.

“Look, Jemma,” he tries, and it’s the first time he has ever said her first name which means he’s probably very serious, “I understand you probably don’t want to talk about whatever nightmare you were having. Hell, if it were the other way around I’d probably kick you out of the room,” she giggles, “but has it maybe occurred to you that you –we– aren’t getting any better because we don’t ever talk about it?”

_It has._

“I know that,” Jemma replies, “but that doesn’t mean I want to talk about it, though.”

“Sometimes we have to go through unpleasant things in order to get better,” he mutters. “You of all people should know that.”

She does. Her mind goes straight to the day she left the Playground; specifically, to how she assumed, back then, Fitz was going to react to her absence. She knew it wasn’t going to be pleasant for him (or for her, but she couldn’t bring herself to think about her own emotions when her best friend’s well-being was concerned), but she also knew it was imperative. He wasn’t getting any better with her around, and though she knew it was going to hurt them both, she also hoped it would help him recover. It wasn’t an easy choice, but it was a necessary one.

She thinks that maybe Lance is right. Maybe this isn’t going to be easy for her, but if it’s going to help her then maybe it _is_ necessary.

“It’s the guilt,” she confesses, not looking at Lance, “not the nightmare itself. They’re always the same recurring nightmares. The problem is the guilt.”

“Oh,” Lance whispers. She keeps going.

“I’m not sure what exactly triggers the panic attacks, but I do know that whenever they happen it’s because I am feeling so guilty I can’t breathe. The guilt is always there, it’s always reminding me I should’ve found a way to get both of us out of there safely, I should’ve swum faster, I should’ve done something to prevent it happening at all, I should’ve… I should’ve done a better job at saving him," she takes a deep breath. "I usually can keep the guilt at bay. The problem is when I can’t.”

They sit in silence for a few moments, mostly because Lance isn’t sure what to say. He knows exactly what she means ( _I should’ve been there faster, I shouldn’t have walked right into the trap when I knew it was a trap, I should have stopped her from leaving in the first place, I should’ve done a better job at saving her_ ) but at the same time, as an outsider, he can see her situation more clearly.

He knows why the guilt is consuming her, because he knows damn well why the guilt is consuming him too. But he also knows it shouldn’t, not in her case, because it wasn’t her fault.

“It was Ward’s fault,” he blurts out, before clearing his throat, and tries to work out how to say the next part. “What happened to you, to both of you, to Fitz, it was all Ward’s fault. You did the best you could with the options you had available, which weren’t many in the first place, and maybe it didn’t work out flawlessly but that _wasn’t_ your fault. I can’t tell you to stop feeling guilty, because you won’t, but I can tell you it wasn’t your fault, this isn’t on you. It’s not your responsibility to save everyone, and sometimes it’s not even possible to do that.”

Jemma stares at him with an inquisitive look in her eyes, and tilts her head.

“Have you tried telling yourself that?” she asks him, suddenly.

_Well._

“It’s different,” he replies. Her head is still tilted.

“How so? You didn’t know Kara was going to kidnap her, you didn’t know Ward was going to torture her, it wasn’t because of something you did–”

“But I walked right into the trap,” he interrupts her, annoyance all over his voice and face. “If I hadn’t, yeah, maybe she would’ve still gone through that torture, but she wouldn’t have _almost died right in front of me_.”

“But she chose to jump in front of that bullet, didn’t she?”

“Fitz chose to give up the last breath for you, didn’t he?”

“I’m not saying he didn’t, I’m saying I should’ve done a better job of stopping him from doing that!”

“And I’m not saying Bob didn’t choose to jump in front of the bullet, I’m saying I shouldn’t have put her in a situation where she had to do that at all!”

They stand in front of each other in a defiant manner, both throwing dirty glares at the other, as the last echoes of their brief argument still resonate across the empty lab. A few seconds later, Jemma gives up and lies down on her bed, her back turned to Lance, who flops down on his chair and rubs his face, then groans.

“Can I just ask you something? I’ll leave you alone after that,” he says, his voice now softer and more understanding, and she turns to look at him and nods briefly. “Do you think it’s ever going away? The guilt, I mean.”

He sounds hopeless when he says it. When Jemma speaks, she sounds as hopeless as he did.

“I don’t think so,” she sighs. “I’ll let you know if it ever does.”

4.

The fourth night, she wakes up at 3:30 after a dreamless sleep, which is very surprising, given how badly she had been sleeping for the past months. She opens her eyes slowly, feeling the delight of a good night’s rest take over her body, and Lance notices, just by the way her face seems more relaxed than usual.

“Sleep well, huh?” he comments, and she smiles as she stretches her limbs.

“As a matter of fact, yeah,” she replies, a hint of satisfaction in her voice. “No nightmares. No dreams at all, actually. It’s been months since I slept this well.”

“Any particular reason why you think that could’ve happened?” he asks her, then, teasing, and she blushes deeply. She knows exactly what she’s talking about, of course, and there’s a chance he might be right.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she mutters, and he snorts loudly, which only makes her blush deeper.

“Sure you don’t, princess.”

“Shut up,” she says, still blushing, but the way she says it has no embarrassment at all; if anything, she sounds proud and maybe even happy. He stops laughing, but a teasing grin remains on his face.

“I’m actually happy for you,” he admits, “even though I don’t understand why you couldn’t just wait a few days until you’re out of quarantine, but…”

“It’s more complicated than that,” she explains. “Initially it wasn’t even going to be a date, he just brought food, and then we decided to sit on the floor in opposite sides of the glass –which isn’t even the first time we’ve had to do that–.”

“Wait, what?” he interrupts her, alarmed, and she sighs.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been quarantined, you know,” she says. “In fact, I think the last time might have been slightly more traumatic for me. And Fitz.” Lance stares at her, dumbfounded, for a couple of seconds, and then he clears his throat.

“That sounds… interesting,” he says. She shrugs.

“Maybe I’ll tell you about it one of these days,” she offers, “but I’m pretty sure I was trying to explain how I accidentally was on a date with Fitz earlier today?”

“I don’t believe it was an accident, but okay,” Lance agrees. Jemma rolls her eyes at him, but ignores his quip in favor of finishing her story.

“We were just going to have dinner together, _like we usually do_ ,” she clarifies once she notices Lance is making the teasing face again, “but then the conversation topics just… spiraled. And then we just sort of realized at the same time that maybe we weren’t exactly talking about things you discuss during a normal, friendly dinner date, so I pointed it out and he said ‘oh’ and I said ‘oh’ and then we just agreed that while we have yet to go on an actual, real date, this one counts as the date I missed, what with being inside an alien rock and all. So, that’s the story.”

Lance has been nodding throughout her entire story, but once she finishes he raises his eyebrows in a condescending manner.

“So you two usually have dinner together like you just described? Because it doesn’t sound platonic to me, not at all,” he points out, and Jemma sighs tiredly.

“Believe me, you are not the first person who has told us that,” she says. “But as a matter of fact, yes, our _dinner dates_ or whatever you want to call them have always been friendly up until two weeks ago when he actually asked me out on a non-platonic dinner date.”

“I have no idea how you do that,” Lance admits. “But then again I rarely am just friends with a girl… well, there was Izzy, but it wasn’t exactly lack of trying on my part at the beginning, she just wasn’t interested in my kind, so.”

“That’s fun,” she says, “I remember Bobbi mentioning once how she had never been friends with a guy first. I guess you two are perfect for each other.”

“We’re perfect for each other because we don’t wait at all, and you and Fitz are perfect for each other because you wait longer than humanly possible,” he says, with a laugh, and Jemma seems to consider it for a moment before laughing along.

“I guess some things are worth the wait,” she says, a look on her face that could only be described as dreamy. Lance makes a disgusted noise.

“That was so _cheesy,_ God,” he says, still pretending to be disgusted, and she grins.

“It’s only gonna get worse,” she announces with a proud smile. He groans, quietly, until Jemma adopts the teasing expression that’s usually his, which makes him groan loudly. “Speaking about you and Bobbi…”

“Weren’t we discussing you and Fitz?” he says, trying to divert the conversation, and she shakes her head, the teasing look still on her face.

“Not anymore.”

“Yes, we are,” he says, then, fully intending to not discuss his own relationship with Bobbi. He adopts an inquisitive expression. “In fact, there is a full list of questions I have about you and Fitz–.”

“That’s great, I have a full list of questions about you and Bobbi too!” Jemma says, only half-sarcastically, but then Lance has an idea.

“I know!” he claps his hands excitedly. “Let’s play twenty questions.” He suggests, drawing out the last part, and Jemma snorts. It’s not exactly the kind of activity she imagined ever doing with Lance Hunter, of all people, but it’s almost dawn and they’re both wide awake and for some reason their newfound friendship makes her feel like playing this game is a good idea, so she shrugs.

“Sounds fine,” she says. “But two things: let’s make it ten, since people will start waking up in no time, and I call first question, since I just spent about fifteen minutes talking about Fitz and I.”

“Fair,” Lance agrees. “So, shoot.”

“How did you and Bobbi meet?”

“She was sent to steal intel from me. We met at a beach party. She talked to me first, of course, since I was her mission and all, but then we just hit it off and slept together and it just sort of snowballed from there,” he gives a self-deprecating laugh, and then points at Jemma. “How did you and Fitz meet, then.”

“At the Academy,” she shrugs. “We were kind of rivals, and he hated me, but then we were paired up in a Chem lab so we _had_ to talk and then I guess we both realized that we were _really_ good together and our ideas complimented each other’s so it just sort of snowballed from there,” she finishes, mimicking his earlier words. “How did you propose to Bobbi?”

“I didn’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I was going to, but she didn’t even let me say the question. I had barely opened my mouth and she was already saying yes,” Lance explains, remembering that night and everything that happened after with fondness. Jemma aww’s. “Have you ever met Fitz’s family?”

“What kind of question is that?” she laughs. “I have. He and his mum used to spend Christmas at my house. Now we can’t, for obvious reasons, but…”

“So your parents know each other? God, that’s so domestic. Gross, I’m telling you.”

“Now I’m curious, do you know Bobbi’s family?”

“Sadly, yes,” he pretends to shudder, “and I can see where she gets the hellbeast traits from. Her mother is… ugh. Let’s just not talk about it.” Jemma laughs. “Okay, the thing that annoys you the most about him.”

“Whenever he complains –or well, used to complain– about me leaving animal entrails or body parts around our _shared_ lab we _both_ worked on,” she says, sounding annoyed but with a fond smile. “He actually used to refer to our lab as _his_ lab and it always got on my nerves.”

“Really.” Lance says, a blank stare on his face. “That’s what annoys you the most about him? See, this is why people thought you were a couple. Because you are _married.”_

“Not the first time I’ve been told that, thank you,” she says, once again, brushing his remarks aside. “I’d ask you what’s the thing that annoys you the most about Bobbi but we’d be here until next Tuesday so instead let me ask how did you manage to go through wedding planning without breaking up?”

“We didn’t,” Lance shrugs. When Jemma gives him a confused stare, he smiles. “We eloped.” Jemma snorts.

“That makes sense,” she says, laughing. “It makes so much sense.”

“I actually recommend eloping,” he winks at her, “in case you ever want to do that…”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she winks back. Lance rolls his eyes.

“Have you and Fitz ever kissed before?” He asks, out of the blue, and Jemma blushes. Lance claps. “Ha, I knew it! I knew it, don’t answer, your face already answered it for me.”

“It happened twice,” she says anyway, suddenly feeling self-conscious, “once because of a stupid spin the bottle game and once because we had just graduated and we were drunk and it just seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“You don’t regret it,” Lance says, looking at her.

“I thought it was my turn to ask a question?”

“That wasn’t a question, it was a statement. But okay, ask your question.”

“How did you know you wanted to marry Bobbi?” she asks him, and Lance stares for a moment, unsure of how to answer. Then, he takes a deep breath.

“I’m not sure,” he admits, “I think it first occurred to me because she was around my place so often that every time she left I felt like there was something missing. Well, that and the first time I saw her take down four guys singlehandedly, that was probably what cemented it. I just knew right then that I wanted her to be my wife.”

“And what changed?” she asks, and Lance points at her.

“It’s my turn.”

“Answer this one and I’ll let you ask two questions,” she offers.

“Okay,” he concedes. “Well, a marriage built upon a foundation as questionable and downright weak as ours’ is always doomed to failure. I was first and foremost her mission, which means that no matter how genuine her feelings were –and I do believe they were genuine– her job was always going to come first, and I could never trust her completely given that, again, we met because I was her mission. To answer your question, though…” he hesitates for a moment, “I’m not sure anything changed. If you asked me right now if I still want her to be my wife, even though I hate her 95% of the time, I’d still probably say yes. The problem isn’t a lack of want, it’s that we’ve been through it enough times to know it’s just not going to work out, not in the way we want to, at least.”

“Tough,” Jemma mutters. He grins weakly.

“Indeed,” he says. “Now, my two questions are: when and how did you realize you had feelings for Fitz? There you go, nice and simple.”

“This is gonna be embarrassing,” Jemma admits, “so please don’t say anything about it until I’m done.” Lance nods. She takes a deep breath. “Well, it’s kind of a long story but to summarize, I had been questioning basically everything ever since he told me how he felt when we were at the bottom of the ocean, and I had been very confused for a long time up until about three weeks ago when I realized my feelings for him were definitely beyond friendship. As for how, well…” she blushes, “it was seeing you by Bobbi’s side after she got shot. You were in a situation that was basically identical to mine and even though you both had your issues and all, at the end of the day she was still willing to give up her life for you. And seeing you then, I could just see how much you loved her and how much guilt and regret and pain you were feeling because it wasn’t right, to see someone you love in that state because of you, but despite everything you were still there with her and still in love with her and that’s when I just… knew. I knew right then. It’s like I was seeing my own situation from an outsider’s perspective, and I knew that maybe when it happened to me my feelings weren’t clear and everything was chaotic so I was justified in putting that in the back burner, but now that the dust settled I think I realized then that deep down I had always been in love with him. It was just a matter of finding the right moment to make me realize it,” she smiles, “so, that’s my story.”

Lance stares at the floor, dumbfounded, for about a minute, too overwhelmed to think about what to say. Jemma is starting to feel self-conscious about admitting such a personal thing, when she notices Lance is wiping off his cheek with his sleeve. Her blood runs cold.

“Oh no, are you okay? You’re crying” she whines, “I’m so sorry, that was not my intention at all–.” Lance interrupts her nervous ramblings with a low chuckle.

“What can I say,” he says, his voice raspy, “I’m flattered, princess. I am so flattered, you have no idea. I… I don’t even know what to say.”

“You really don’t have to say anything. In fact, I’d prefer if you didn’t say anything.”

“I’m glad I indirectly made this happen,” he blurts out. “You and Fitz deserve to be happy, with each other, preferably, so it’s just… good, to know that I partially caused this. I’m seriously flattered, look, you even made me cry.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Jemma comments. Then, she smiles at him, with the kind of fondness that is rarely directed towards anyone but Fitz. “But really, thank you. I’m not glad you were in that situation but you’re right, you indirectly made this happen, so I have a lot to thank you for.”

“It’s really, truly an honor,” he says, solemnly. They share a small moment, then, before Lance clears his throat, partially to grab her attention and partially to clear his voice, still raspy. “Okay, princess, that was sweet but it’s almost five and May is gonna wake up in no time, so last question?” Jemma nods.

“We need to finish one of these days,” she suggests, “but, okay, here it goes. Do you love Bobbi?”

“Of course I do,” he says, matter-of-factly. “Again, I might hate her 95% of the time but the kind of love we share, I’m not sure it’s the kind that goes away.”

“Aww.” Jemma says. Lance snorts.

“Just when I was starting to like you,” he jokes. “My last question is the same: do you love Fitz?” Jemma takes a moment to answer.

“I do,” she says. “Maybe not in the way you mean, not yet at least, but he has been my best friend for over a decade; the things I have been through with him, I don’t think that’s ever going to compare to anything else. I don’t mean this just because of the last names thing, but I do believe he’s my other half of sorts. So damn right I love him, I always have.”

“Well, that was as disgusting as I was expecting,” he says, then adopts a more serious expression. “Now, my friend, this has been a wonderful evening, but I believe that was the last question and you need some rest.”

“So do you,” she points out. He makes a mocking noise.

“Like I’m actually gonna get any rest,” he laughs. Jemma narrows her eyes.

“You actually should, you know. Try to sleep.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” he tries. She doesn’t look convinced, but lets it go.

“Okay then,” she says, settling under the covers, “good… morning, Hunter.”

“Good morning, princess,” he jokes, and takes his usual seat to watch over her sleep.

5.

Jemma knows it’s her last night of quarantine (or, at least, she’s very hopeful) so she doesn’t go to sleep; instead, she’s awake when Lance comes by to take Fitz’s place –who, by now, learned to not question why Lance was so eager to take the night watch, and just welcomed the extra hours of sleep– and when he sits by the glass, he looks at her for a few seconds, detailing her facial expression, and laughs.

“You’re radiant,” he points out. Her smile, big enough already, gets even bigger.

“I might be out of this horrible thing in less than twelve hours,” she says, “I have every reason to be radiant.”

“Which means I’m almost officially about to get rid of you forever,” he jokes. “Thank God.”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “You know you love me, Hunter. Me and my tendency to make you speak about your darkest secrets and fears. And my hair.”

“Your hair mostly makes you look like a lion, princess,” he says, instead of a straight answer, and she smiles triumphantly.

“Aww, you like me now!” she claps. “And by the way, quit calling me ‘princess’. It’s kind of annoying.”

“You know you like the pet name, princess,” Lance says, using the same phrase she used before, and once again not answering her quip. Jemma rolls her eyes.

“I really, really don’t,” she replies.

“Well, just FYI, it’s not going away,” he informs her, “and also FYI, I never really _disliked_ you. I just… found you overexcitable, and a know-it-all most of the time, and I didn’t really make time to actually talk to you because I had a feeling I’d end up with my self-esteem about ten points lower.”

“Did it happen?” Jemma asks, curious, and he laughs.

“Not yet,” he jokes. “You still haven’t hurt my brain with your science.”

“Yet,” she points out.

“Yet,” he agrees. “But seriously, now, I’m not entirely sure why I didn’t talk to you before.”

Jemma smiles fondly at him. “I’m not sure either but I’m glad you did. I know you did it for Fitz, and because you weren’t getting any sleep anyway so you decided you might as well just get a sense of usefulness from watching me sleep, but still. I’m glad.”

“You know what, princess,” he says, “I’m glad I did it too. I actually am a little fond of you now, who knew,” he admits.

“Just a little?” Jemma asks, raising her eyebrows. He raises his hands.

“Okay, fine, not just a little. More like, a lot. It’s been nice to have someone who understands, you know.”

“Yeah, sharing sleep deprivation does that,” she sighs, “but if we’re doing this now, well… I kinda grew fond of you too. Even when you call me princess.”

A sudden smirk appears on his face. “Plus, you have to like me because I made you realize–”

“Oh God, no–”

“–that you were in love with Fitz so we’re bound together foreve-e-er,” he sing-songs, “I’m going to tell your future children I made them happen.”

“Like I’m letting you near my future children,” she says, blushing, and he snorts.

“Of course you will, I’m gonna be the fun uncle. And when you and Fitz get married I _have_ to be the best man. And when–”

“Okay, we’re stopping now,” she interrupts him, mortified, and he laughs delightedly.

“Ahhh I’m gonna have so much fun with you now,” he announces. “You have to put up with me forever.”

“I just wanted to have a peaceful quarantine,” she mutters, faux-annoyed, “but now I’m gonna have this burden for the rest of my life.”

“C’mon, I’m not a burden,” he says, “you admitted you like me and there’s no take-backsies.”

“Sadly,” she sighs.

When she looks at the clock on her bedside table, it reads 12:15.

+1

The clock on the common room wall reads 3:05, but Lance isn’t exactly paying attention to it, instead staring at the half-empty bottle of beer in his hand. He’s sitting on one of the couches and has been for the past hour; waking up from a nightmare always did leave him craving beer, and this particular one had been stronger than usual.

He hears footsteps outside, and smiles. There is only one person who could also be awake at this time of night, and sure enough, Jemma walks in, wearing an oversized SHIELD Sci&Tech Academy t-shirt and sweatpants. When she spots him, she beams, and he can’t help but do the same.

“Nightmares, huh?” she asks, taking a seat next to him, and he nods once.

“It’s been a while since they made me want to drink, though,” he admits. Then, he offers his beer bottle to Jemma, who shakes her head in response.

“They never make _me_ want to drink,” she says, and he takes a sip from the bottle. She looks at him. “How often does this happen?”

“The drinking after nightmares? Not as often now. The drinking because of any other reason? Well…”

“Oh, well, now we know what we have to work on next!” she says, probably more chipper than it’s appropriate when discussing someone else’s drinking problem, and he adopts a confused expression.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, and she rolls her eyes.

“What are we gonna discuss during our sleepovers if we’re both emotionally healthy?” she says, matter-of-factly, and he stares at her for a few seconds before bursting into loud laughter. She frowns, fighting her own laughter for a moment, before giving in and chuckling.

“You are _amazing,_ princess,” he says, in between gasps, then holds a hand up for her to high-five, which she does.

“I know, I know I can be pretty great, but thank you,” she replies, and deliberately doesn’t comment on the use of the pet name. He laughs again.

“But, really,” he comments, “normal people don’t discuss their deep emotional issues during sleepovers. In fact, normal sleepovers usually just involve gossiping about boys and eating ice cream and watching movies,” he says, and it sounds more like a suggestion than a statement of fact. Jemma grins.

“Who says we can’t do that too?”

“I vote we should,” he offers.

“I vote we should,” she agrees, then narrows her eyes. “Wait, when you say ‘gossiping about boys’...”

“Believe me, honey, that is _not_ gonna be a problem,” he says, and winks. She bursts into laughter again.

“We need to gossip about girls too, what about your Bobbi issues?” she asks, teasing, and he groans.

“There are a lot of those.”

“I know,” she mutters.

“Ouch.”

They sit together a while longer, until the clock on the wall reads 4:00, and then Jemma yawns.

“I should probably go back to sleep,” she says, her voice now thick with sleep. He gives her a knowing look.

“Back to your man?” he asks. She grins, that one grin that is always reserved just for Fitz, and shrugs.

“Something like that.”

Right as she’s about to leave, Lance remembers something that had been in his mind since her second day of quarantine, and clears his throat.

“Simmons?” he asks, and she gives him a look. He opens his arms. “C’mere, gimme a hug.”

“What?” she says, then, a mix between confused and amused, but still walks the few steps that separate them and wraps her arms around his waist, while he does the same around her shoulders. “What’s that for?” she asks him, voice muffled by his chest.

“You really seemed to need a hug while you were in quarantine –and now that I think about it, in general you just really seem to need a hug– so,” he explains, arms still tightly wrapped around her. He can feel her smile which, in turn, makes him smile. “It’s also a thank you, by the way. For, you know, being generally awesome and working hard so this team doesn’t die and annoyingly force some stuff out of me that I wouldn’t ever discuss under other circumstances.”

“I really should be thanking you. For all the aforementioned reasons,” she says, a little bashfully, and he gives her a small squeeze before letting her go. When he looks at her, he notices her eyes are brighter than usual. She clears her throat. “And, um, I’d also like to thank you for looking out for Fitz. While I was gone, I mean, but also all this time… I know you didn’t do it for me, obviously, since we didn’t even know each other back then, but still.”

When she’s finished, Lance notices his own eyes are welled up with tears. He smiles.

“He deserved that,” he says, “and I’m really glad I did it. He’s a great guy. You both deserve to be looked out for.”

“He is a great guy,” she agrees, _the grin_ on her face again. “And just so you know, you deserve to be looked out for too,” they smile at each other briefly, and then Lance looks at the clock, and pats Jemma’s shoulder.

“Okay, princess, bedtime time for you,” he says.

“You’re not going to sleep?” she asks, but she knows the answer already. He makes a noncommittal noise. She shakes her head. “Of course. Goodnight, Hunter.”

“‘night, princess.”

When she walks away, he notices the beer he was having before she walked in was left forgotten, and smiles.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I don't even know what to say except "screw you show I can't go around fixing everything for you with fanfiction MAKE LANCE AND JEMMA INTERACT IN CANON FOR GOD'S SAKE." So, yeah, hopefully they will get their well deserved interaction in season 3, it's not like they went through almost an identical situation or anything... God, I'm so bitter. So, so bitter.
> 
> Title was taken from Fireproof, by The National. Infinite thanks to Taylor for being the coolest beta I've ever had!!


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